In the Morning
by razor840
Summary: This is just a general Cameron character exploration. This is the first work I've ever actually finished. I need to thank Oldhamster for the beta.


I wake up every day at five in the morning. I always make sure I set my three cell phone alarms, my computer's alarm, and my standalone alarm. I don't come into work until eight, but I need some time to myself. When I was at the Mayo Clinic, it seemed like the days would never end**,** but I kept up trying to eat healthy food, exercise, and grab some sleep when I could. I still get pulled out of bed late at night and when I'm supposed to be off the clock, the life of a doctor.

I roll out of bed and flip the lights on. Everything looks cold and grey because all I really do is sleep here, shower here. I see some dust bunnies underneath the dresser on the far wall, one of those impossibly heavy pieces of oak that your grandparents give you when they sell their houses and move to retirement homes. I'm already thinking about the patient. I should be thinking about running the sweeper and dusting because I don't have to be Dr. Cameron for another three hours. I can smell the coffee brewing. Programmable coffee pots are surely a gift from some deity. It almost makes me question my lack of faith. My husband always had trouble programming stuff like coffee pots, VCRs, and garage door openers. I grew up poor, so it was more of a luxury for me than a nuisance. I read the owners manual cover to cover.

I walk into the bathroom and remove the chemical mask I had put on before going to bed the night before. It helps exfoliate and deep cleans my pores. I wash my face off with some water and return to my room. I can't bare to look at my bathroom sometimes. All of my products are piled into a big basket by the sink, like I'm still in college. I can't really afford the good, expensive stuff, the stuff that Cuddy would use. I have a massive spreadsheet on my computer that explains why I can't afford eighty dollar leave in conditioner; student loans, insurance, credit cards. I live frugally for the most part. I'll be able to pay off my debts in less than five years while still contributing a percentage of my pay to my IRA. Work related retirement plans are never enough. House would have a field day with all of the anal retentiveness but I get the feeling that he doesn't know what it is like to be poor. Even if I discount the products, there aren't any warm colors or a funny bathmat with cows or something on it. All I see is cold, white porcelain tile, gleaming up at me and forcing my eyes to adjust to the brightness. I scrubbed my bathroom from top to bottom a few nights ago, I wanted to let off some steam.

I pull on a pair of shorts and a tank top from my 'workout clothing' drawer and get dressed. I decide, in my half asleep state, that it either looks like a crazy person lives here or it looks like my apartment is the unit that they take prospective renters through to show them what one looks like. Wilson's hotel room is probably more personalized. I chastise myself for thinking ill of Wilson. He has never been anything but kind. I grab some grapes and a bottle of water out of my refrigerator. At least I do have some fruit in there, at least it isn't all yogurt and bottles of water. I try to explain to patients everyday that their eating habits greatly effect their lives. You don't eat for the pleasure of it, you eat to fuel your body. It isn't such a horrible thing to be healthy, it makes it easier to be happy or at least I think it does. They probably think I'm just some skinny bitch though.

I'm running through different autoimmune diseases in my head, thinking about moving on to the lymphomas while I stretch out in front of the treadmill. I envy C.J. Craig at the moment, even during my workout time I can't get away from the medicine, away from House. My hips feel kind of tight. I've been sitting too much these days but House isn't the kind of boss that thinks it is ok for one of his underlings to get up and stretch out a little bit while he's talking. At least I don't think he's that kind of boss. I still know nothing substantial about him. I'm surprised I haven't gone crazy yet. I check my phone and pager. I really just want to make sure I didn't miss anything while I was asleep. I'll deal with the major issues of organizing personal calls and updating my hard copy day planner (as well as my computerized version) after I finish my work out and shower.

I run for about an hour. I warm up at no incline and then slowly increase up to a ten percent grade. My treadmill is getting a little old and I'm going to have to replace the belt. It was kind of expensive but it has a lifetime frame and motor warranty through Nordictrack, so hopefully it will last for quite awhile longer. I've never actually called the company though, so I don't know how good they are about taking care of stuff like that. I'm slick with sweat when I finish. My calves ache. I look at the clock on my DVD player and it is a little after six. I do a hundred crunches, twenty five push ups, and then everything hurts in a good way. I can feel my body finally waking up. I'm thinking about Francine Carter more than ever. Having only one patient a week is not good for me. I think I like people too much. Getting a proper history means that you have to know practically everything about a person's life. I constantly feel like I'm perched on this razor's edge, precariously balanced between needing to know and being far too involved. Scratch that, it isn't like a razor's edge at all, because the lines aren't perfectly straight and you don't cut yourself when you cross them.

It must be a nightmare to be constantly tired and not know why. I can sympathize with Francine but I can't really empathize. I know why I'm tired all the time. I have to envy House's perspective in a way. He has the wisdom of having worked in medicine before the explosion of heart disease and the obesity epidemic, before we started really seeing how a modern, sedentary life can affect you. Almost everyone we deal with sits at a desk for a living. I'm thankful everyday to work for someone who really challenges commonly held medical and scientific notions. I know that I have to be a better doctor because of him.

I try to stop analyzing the situation and just concentrate on taking a shower. It does me no good to constantly obsess.

I use a foaming body cleanser first, using a more abrasive sponge to get rid of all the dead skin cells and to generally kill most of the bacteria. I then use an apricot body wash with a moisturizer because I don't want my skin to dry out. I use several different products on my face, depending on whether it seems like I might be having a break out or not. I pretty much always start with an exfoliating apricot face cream, however. I never use a cleanser with alcohol because, as Patrick Bateman said, alcohol dries your skin out and makes you look old. If I actually thought about the time I spent on my hair in a year, I would probably cry. Sometimes I feel tired of all of this and I envy House even though I know I shouldn't. These weird bouts of anger seem to be coming more frequently as of late.

I overheard one of the nurses commenting on one of my vests the other day. She wasn't kind. I believe her actual comment was something along the lines of: "Did you see Dr. Cameron's latest fashion disaster? I don't understand the puffy circa 18th century blouse and vest thing. Is she like the female version of Johnny Tremain or something?" Then they giggled.

I think they were just trying to blow off some steam. I am from Wisconsin though, we aren't really known for being devastatingly fashion forward. I try my best to look professional but sometimes I make mistakes. I choose a collared monochromatic shirt and dress slacks. I figure that's safe. It seems as though I can wind my hair into a bun in seconds these days, which is good because the barrettes were another poor fashion choice according to the nurses.

After brushing my teeth and putting on some light make-up I'm pretty much ready. I drink coffee while I update my day planner. I bring up my calendar, just to make sure that there aren't any appointments fast approaching that I forgot about. I never forget. I check to see if my safe is shut and locked, my dad insisted although I didn't really fight him on it because I think I've inherited some of his paranoia. I grab a couple of pertinent journals from the coffee table and slip on my shoes, I have to wear heels or I look like a four year old.

I should still get there early. I can do some more research and maybe talk to Wilson about my lymphoma idea if he isn't too busy. In the back of my mind, I start thinking that maybe I should be waking up at four.


End file.
